


The Chimera

by Ramzes



Series: Dragons Shine Best in the Sun [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 06:26:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18845485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: As King Viserys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, lays dying, there is a decision that Prince Daeron must make - good vs possible. Honour against lives. And Mariah is surprised by the answer that corresponds to her own desires.





	The Chimera

“Are you sure?” Daeron asked, looking very dubious. “You don’t have to do it, you know. A sickroom isn’t the best place for a young woman, and one in your state least of all.”

“We don’t _know_ that this is my state,” Mariah reminded him, rocking Baelor to sleep.

Her moonblood had not come but it could easily be just her body adapting to the changes after giving birth. She still had many changes to get used to. Could she have gotten with child mere days after they had decided that they wanted one? She tried not to raise her hopes too high.

“Don’t you _want_ me there?” she asked, saddened all of a sudden. Not for herself – for him. She knew that he loved her. She didn’t want to think that he did not wish to let anyone as close as to rely on their support in this darkest of all hours. He loved and trusted people – this was one of the things that had drawn her to him. It pained her to think that he might prefer to suffer in solitude. He was way too young for such withdrawal from the world.

“I do,” he replied. “But it’s not something that will give you any pleasure, Mariah. The Stranger is already close, halfway to his chambers.”

“Being with you always gives me pleasure,” she replied and this was the truth. Somehow, being around him felt just right, even when they had little to say to each other because should they open their mouth, the concern and fear of the days they lived in would erupt.

Alas, the King was less than pleasured to see her - and he made it blatantly clear. As weak as he was – and there was no doubt that he was dying, Mariah saw the seal of the Stranger on his brow as soon as she entered, Viserys Targaryen, the first of his Name, was still very much the King. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said. “Babes dislike the presence of death.”

Mariah glanced at Daeron, surprised that he had told Viserys about their secret. The King noticed her look and his own eyes became sharper. “He hasn’t lied to me, has he? To reassure me?”

Mariah shook her head. “I do think I’m with child.”

He nodded in his pillow. “Then, you are. I have no doubt that you will give us a silver son, Mariah of Dorne – if not this time, you’ll keep trying. You have the heart of a warrior, much like your Nymeria.”

The words came slowly, broken in pieces but they came. Mariah looked away, moved by this recognition and not even caring if it was true, or just spoken for Daeron’s sake, to make him feel better against the storm of rumours surrounding his Dornish lady wife that showed no signs of abating. It was enough that Daeron was smiling.

When they sat at Viserys’ bedside, Daeron reached for her hand before she could reach for him and warmth filled her, lulling her into contentment and safety even as her eyes welled up for the King, even as Viserys and Daeron spoke in a low voice about things that were so important that they could change the world, and things so horrible that they could only be hinted at – when absolutely necessary.

“It was him,” Daeron said bitterly as Mariah rubbed his back this night, a habit that she intended to keep until her belly grew too big for her to reach him comfortably.

At first, she could not understand. Only when she could not, untypically, get him into relaxing, recognition slowly sipped inside her, spreading ice into her veins. “Do you really think so?” she asked, holding her breath, her hand already to her belly to protect the child in whose existence she was not certain.

“My grandfather was never ill before,” Daeron said. “Never. It’s very… interesting that he should do so now, when he gave me increasing responsibilities and authority, don’t you think?”

Mariah made no answer. She had had this same thought from time to time, of course, but she had always told herself she was simply being too suspicious. Her goodfather and the low company he kept could hardly be bothered to lift a finger to actually undertake the work of ruling, right? It would actually take the effort to take time from their disreputable pleasures! _I only forgot one thing_ , she thought. _When low company feels its privileges threatened, it’s quick to forego pleasures and start a fight against all rules_.

Daeron kept looking at her intently. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

What could she say? Deny? He wasn’t this stupid; he would see right through her. Admit that she had been having the same suspicions? This would only pain him: as distasteful as he found Aegon, he _was_ his father. He certainly hoped that he was wrong, that Aegon had nothing to do with the upcoming death of the grandfather Daeron loved. And yet, he expected of her to say something. She rose, wiped the soothing oil off her hands and lay down in their bed, next to him. “I love you,” she said and when she saw how his face changed, she wondered if she had never said the words before. Loving him had come so naturally that surely the words had rolled off her tongue just as naturally? He held her tight and she knew that they had not. _I’ll say them often_ , she thought, for this was the truth and they seemed to be helping. For now.

* * *

  The arrival of the Small Council set her teeth at edge. First, it was beyond indecent for them to leave their place of work while the sun was still high up in the sky! _The rats are fleeing the sinking ship, aren’t they_ , she thought cynically. Did anyone need any further proof that they, too, thought the King was dying? They would have never risked their offices if they thought there was the slightest chance Viserys would get to know about it. But the King was busy dying and Mariah felt a surge of anger. All of them coming at once! Just how vulgar could they be in their blatant disrespect of the man who had elevated them? What did they want of Daeron? Drag them into their endless schemes of outsmarting everything and everyone, from House Greyjoy to each other?

“Don’t go,” she said, snuggling closer to him. In this early afternoon, the city napped and Daeron was sprawled next to her in their bed. Deeply asleep, Baelor somehow managed to take up the entire lower half of the bed despite his diminutive size. It was so peaceful. “Let them wait for a while.”

But she knew it was irresponsible and anyway, he was already putting on his clothes.

“Are you coming?” he asked and she smiled dryly.

“No,” she said. “This isn’t Dorne but I am Dornish. They’re likely to be more reserved if they see a woman, and your Dornish wife, of all people, as having any influence in your conversation.”

Daeron sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I’m just tired of this secrecy. By the Seven, if you’re going to spy on me, it should be about my mistress or something like this.”

Mariah’s eyes narrowed; unlike him, she did not sound amused in any way. “Has your mother ever spied on your father?” she asked. “And anyway, if a mistress appear at any time, Daeron, you can rest assured that you won’t get spied upon. I’ll just…” She thought of a proper course an action. “I’ll just splash a pail of hot water over your most… relevant parts so your functioning in this area will get permanently nonexisting!” 

He laughed, the fool! He didn’t realize that she would have done it in a heartbeat if she thought she could get away with it.

Which, of course, meant that she wouldn’t do it but still…

She was already dressing – an afternoon robe, a ribbon holding her dark hair back. She was not very presentable but she wasn’t going at any official function, after all. She called for Baelor’s nurse and kissed him, careful not to wake him up.

Daeron send for his guests when Mariah was already at her place, behind the grate high in the wall that let her see everything and remain unseen, as long as she remained a step back from the opening. And she could hear every sound – there was a reason that the most important negotiations in Dorne took place in halls with little fountains. The murmur of water dwarfed all other noises. It was hell for anyone who tried to eavesdrop. Here, it was comfortable.

She immediately saw that out of the six members of the Small Council – Viserys had not appointed a new Hand after his former one had died unexpectedly – one was missing: the Lord Captain of the Kingsguard. Lord Tyrell of Highgarden, though, made up for his absence. Even Lord Estermont was here – everyone knew he was the Lord of the Stormlands’ confidante. Mariah’s focus intensified.

“We came to ask Your Grace,” the Maester of Coin started, “how is the King faring? We’ve been hearing all kinds of rumours…”

“Poorly,” Daeron said curtly and Mariah could have yelled at him because being short with them accomplished nothing – it would only turn them against him.

They nodded. “So we’ve heard,” they said. “We hoped that he would recover…”

“So do I,” Daeron said.

“But if he isn’t… There have been many things happening, as you know, Your Grace. Word is, your lord father is preparing to take the throne.”

Daeron did not shrug but his tone was overly patient. “It’s his by right.”

“This wasn’t what King Viserys wanted.”

Mariah gasped. She had not expected such frankness. And Tyrell, of all people, was nodding in agreement with the statement made.

“There is still time, Your Grace.” The Master of Laws leaned forward. “We all know that His Grace wanted to make you his Hand and successor. You’ve had some successes, albeit you’re so young. Your father is known for things other than dutifulness and responsibility. If we act now, before his positions are firmly consolidated, there is a good chance that we’re going to win. Everyone knows His Grace liked and preferred you for years.”

Mariah was shaking. She did not know what Daeron would rely, what she even wanted him to reply. Yes, it would be better to settle the matter once and for all but what if… what if it got settled in a way that would be the end of both her and Daeron, and even little Baelor? What if it got settled in a way that would lead to internal wars, another Dance of the Dragons – this time one that could tear the still not recovered Westeros to more kingdoms than it had had before Aegon and his sisters had conquered it? Claiming the throne that Aegon did not deserve at all, not after this, leading Westeros to the peace and prosperity King Viserys had envisioned, was so tantalizing, so very wanted… She could be the queen of a wise king who would rule with honour and…

She could see that her husband was surprised, too. Surprised by their directness. Surprised by the fact that a Tyrell was willing to do something that would bring a Dornish queen to the throne decades earlier than expected. _They must be quite desperate_ , she thought and realized that over the years, they must have come to know Aegon’s nature better, saw more than the charm he showed the world.

“His Grace wanted to have you succeed him,” the Master of Ships said, voicing it clearly for the first time. “Are you ready to follow his wish, or let events developed?”

“I’ll need to think about it,” Daeron said and while Mariah knew that he would ask for her advice, she had no idea what she should tell him.

* * *

 

  “I’m not sure I can win this,” Daeron told her when they were in their bedchamber again, this time to realize that Baelor had taken possession over the entire bed. “And they must know it, no matter how unwilling they are to admit it. Else, they would have not come to me with such secrecy.”

Mariah nodded. A son trying to rob his father of his birthright – this was something that could not attract many. Not before Aegon made enough blunders to make everyone _see_. And the fact that he might have killed his own father did not matter. There was no proof. He was not as irresponsible as to risk the future of Westeros for a chimera – and while risking it all for an ideal might have looked appealing to her once, now that she had him and Baelor, it was terrifying to her. She stood too much to lose.

“Then, we’ll be waiting,” she said, leaning over Baelor and rearranging his limbs so she could have enough space to lie down, albeit not quite comfortably.


End file.
